He blushes. Pink against pale skin scattered with freckles.
Finally, he joins me in a crooked grin. “Great year.”
But that’s enough teasing for now. “So, how’d you get into science?”
His face lights up. “Well, I’ve always loved plants. My mom used to take me to this botanical garden near where I grew up, and I fell in love with it. I insisted on reading every little plaque. It took us hours to get all the way around. I got interested in medicinal plants after learning about aspirin bark, and then in chemistry generally from there.”
He’s getting more confident, relaxed. This is his element. I no longer doubt he’s ready for the fireside chat.
“What made you decide to go to grad school?”
“I’m a masochist,” he says with a wry smile, then blushes, second-guessing what must be his usual response. “F-figuratively. But more seriously, I liked the sense of purpose that came with it. Doing public research.”
“Why stop? Why not do a postdoc?”
“I strongly considered it, but… my PI was about to retire. I didn’t get along with any of the other professors in my field. And to be completely honest… I was worried eating so much instant ramen was going to give me heart problems.”
I give a half chuckle. “I can relate. I put every penny into Artemis in the early days.”
“I can’t even imagine what it took to start a company,” he says reverently.
I bask in it for a moment, then say, “Ninety percent luck. Ten percent tenacity. It’s not so complicated.” It’s not that I’m humble, so much as these turns of phrase put people at ease.Make me seem relatable.
It works on Jamie like a charm, and he warms. “I’m sure it’s at least five percent talent too.”
“Well, you’ve got me there.”
“Do you ever miss it? Working in the lab?”
“Some days,” I answer honestly. “But truth be told, once we had the initial molecule, there were plenty of talented scientists who could work out the formulation and process development better and faster that I could. But there was nobody else who could make the right decisions for the company fast enough. Still isn’t.”
He nods. “I hope this doesn’t sound like a really stupid question, but… what kind of decisions? I just—I’m sure they’re really important—I can’t even imagine.”
It’s refreshing that Jamie doesn’t want anything from me. Doesn’t even know what I can do, what I could do for him. Not with any specificity, anyway. I consider letting it stay that way, but I get the sense that Jamie doesn’t have a scheming bone in his body.
“Well, like this deal with the state. We’re investing a lot of resources into pursuing it. Step one is even recognizing the opportunity. I keep an eye out for trends, watch the markets, keep up with my networks. I watch other companies try similar things and fail or succeed. Next is weighing the pros and cons. What’s the return if we succeed, the risk if we fail, the relative chance of doing so. Assessing those factors correctly is absolutely critical. The decision flows easily from an accurate assessment. So, this deal with the state—it’s aligned with our mission as a company. There’s an altruistic element, which will keep the teams motivated through the long nights and weekends that may be required to get this over the finish line. I’ve been greasing the wheels with the state by sponsoring other health initiatives, putting our own resources on the line.We’ve developed trust. And I have friends who know the current legislature well, who’ve confirmed that they share similar values.”
Jamie’s expression of wonder is deeply gratifying—mostly because it’s totally honest. Not ass-kissing or feigned aloofness. I certainly don’t need my ego stroked, but I’m not mad about it.
I’m glad Eileen booked this dinner. She was right to give us a chance to break the ice. I didn’t see the need initially, but it’s clear now that Jamie is shy. Takes a bit to open up.
The familiarity will read well on the stage, too.
Chapter 10
JAMIE
I’m thinking too much about making the right level of eye contact as I try not to stare at the muscles rippling at Morgan’s shoulders, the slope of her collarbones, the way her lilac top hugs her ribs underneath, frames her breasts.
Morgan talks as if she’s already on stage—poised and confident and articulate. She probably didn’t need to practice her questions at all. Or, I suppose, she’s been practicing similar questions for fifteen years. A CEO doesn’t exactly have the luxury of knowing when an employee or a rival or a journalist is going to pop out of the woodwork and demand answers.
“Oh wow,” I answer as Morgan finishes describing the strategy behind the deal with the state. “That’s like… a science unto itself.”
“And an art,” she adds.
I nod appreciatively, reaching for my glass of wine. But then Morgan takes my hand, pulling it towards her.
Electricity ripples from the touch, setting my muscles tingling. Butterflies take flight in my stomach. What’s happening?
